


And I Am Alive

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Prompt Fills 2018 [46]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: From the song titles comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, any/any, Peanut Butter."Clone Carson Beckett is back on Atlantis and reeling from the realization that he's not who he thinks he is. Major Lorne brings him honey and peanut butter sandwiches. Confessions are made.





	And I Am Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squidgiepdx (squidgie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/gifts).



He wasn’t real. He was a  _ clone. _ That the others had found him and rescued him at all was a miracle, because they hadn’t been looking for him. They hadn’t known he’d existed. The person he thought he was was  _ dead. _

Carson didn’t know anything beyond what he’d experienced. As far as he knew, he’d been Michael’s prisoner for two years. He’d survived torture and enslavement because he’d had hope that Atlantis and John Sheppard would come for him.

Which they had.

But they hadn’t been hoping for him like he’d been hoping for them.

They looked at him, and they grieved.

What had he missed in those two years? What experiences had the other version of him shared that he would never know, that he would always be ignorant of? If he stayed on Atlantis, he would always be two steps behind everyone around him who thought they knew him.

_ Remember when? _ someone would ask, turning to him with a smile.

The answer would be a regretful,  _ No. _

They’d given him some guest quarters because of course he no longer had quarters. Jennifer Keller was a good lass, a fine doctor. Of course the chief medical officer’s suite would have gone to her. 

Carson drifted out of the ensuite, because constantly staring at his reflection was just fueling his identity crisis. He went and sat down on the edge of the bed and wondered what to do with himself. They were going to send him back to Earth so he could rest up, but - what did he have there? Surely everyone he knew and loved on Earth had been told he was dead. At least on Atlantis people would be able to accept working with a clone.

He sat up straighter, eyes wide.

His  _ mother. _ She thought he was dead. She’d been grieving all this time -

But then the man she knew as her son  _ was _ dead.

What was Carson, but a carbon copy? Not quite the original, smudged around the edges.

The door of his quarters chimed.

“Come in,” he said, because maybe even brief interaction with some young Marine - maybe even one who’d never known him - would be better than sitting around wondering if he was even real.

“Hey, Doc,” Major Lorne said, and Carson’s throat closed.

Evan Lorne. 

“Major,” Carson said faintly. “Hello.”

“Hey. I figured you’d be feeling kind of hungry, so - I brought you food. Honey and peanut-butter sandwiches, with a side of apples and carrots, like you always like.” Evan approached tentatively, held out a cafeteria tray. He’d included a little carton of milk and a square of brownie for dessert.

“Thank you,” Carson said, and his voice came out hoarse. He swallowed. “I appreciate it.”

How had Evan known the foods he liked? Before Michael had taken him, he and Evan had been getting to know each other. Evan would chat with him during his post-mission checkups, sometimes sit with him in the mess hall.

There was one time they’d sat next to each other during a base-wide movie screening and Carson had been privy to Evan’s dry, witty running commentary, shared a bowl of popcorn with him (carefully rationed so Teyla could have as much as she wanted).

Carson had learned that Evan was from California, had been raised on a hippy commune outside of San Francisco, that beneath his buttoned-up uniform he had tattoos and a golden tan, that he liked surfing and had grown up a little wild, that joining the armed forces had made him a rebel in his home community.

Something about the way Evan looked at him sometimes had made him wonder.

Evan was just as beautiful as Carson remembered, with his bright blue eyes and dimpled smile.

“Anything I can do? To make you more comfortable,” Evan said.

“Ah - no,” Carson said. “The food is much appreciated. How did you know -?”

Evan shrugged one shoulder. “I’m observant.”

How observant? How close had he been to the other Carson? Had the other Carson been brave? Because Carson had promised himself, if he made it back to Atlantis, he’d take the chance. Take the plunge. Confess his feelings to Evan, because what did he have to lose? Even if Evan didn’t reciprocate, he’d take it well, Carson was pretty sure.

“Is it strange for you?” Carson asked. “I’m not the Carson Beckett you knew. I’m just - a copy.”

“It is strange,” Evan said. “After he died, I - I regretted. Fiercely. Not spending time with him like he asked me to. But - you’re not him. You’re your own person, with your own experiences.”

Something in Carson sang. Yes! This was what he’d wanted, from someone, from anyone, recognition that he was a real person, separate from the man he’d been copied from.

“I can’t imagine how it feels for you, though, thinking no one missed you, learning that people you cared about are also gone. There are probably so many unfamiliar faces walking these halls.” Evan sank down in the chair at the desk.

“I recognize you,” Carson said, without thinking, and he winced.

“I’m glad,” Evan said. “Before you left - we didn’t know each other all that well, I guess.”

So the other Carson hadn’t been brave. Carson wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

“Maybe we can get to know each other now,” Carson offered.

Evan smiled. “Yeah. That’d be nice. Except - I kind of know you already. Parts of you.”

“I’m sure I can still surprise you,” Carson said. “So, Evan Lorne, what kind of music do you like?”

Evan’s expression turned thoughtful. “I like sort of stereotypical hippy music - Joni Mitchell, Peter Paul and Mary, the Kingston Trio, but also more modern bands, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You like The Beatles and The Clash and The Who and The Sex Pistols, right? I was pretty surprised about those.”

Carson nodded. “Aye, most people are, but I am able to let loose and have fun once in a while.”

“I know. One time, on a designated Sunday, you -” Evan cut himself off. “But that wasn’t you. What other kinds of music do you like?”

“Korean trot music,” Carson said.

Evan’s eyebrows went up. “That - you definitely surprised me there.”

“Marie likes to listen to music while we do inventory. I’m not much a fan of the newer pop, but trot music I like. It’s easy to dance to,” Carson said.

“You are a good dancer,” Evan admitted.

Something in Carson’s chest fluttered. When had Evan seen him dance? Had they danced together?

“How are you at dancing?” Carson asked instead.

“Terrible,” Evan admitted. “Two left feet. It’s pretty awful. No one ever wanted to go to officers’ balls with me because they’d leave with injured feet. Everyone on base knew everywhere I was posted. Where did you learn to dance?”

“In PE class at school. Ballroom dancing was part of our regular instruction,” Carson said.

“Did you go to one of those fancy private schools? Only they call them public schools over there, don’t they?” Evan leaned in, rested his elbows on his knees, looking at Carson intently.

Carson remembered this, being the center of Evan’s focus and attention, how it always made his pulse race.

While he ate, they talked. The sandwiches were delicious, and the apples were crisp and sweet.

“Did you make the brownie yourself?” Carson asked.

Evan nodded, then paused. “How did you know?”

“Perhaps I know more about you than you give me credit for.” Carson rose up, set the tray on the desk beside Evan, then remained standing beside him. “Were you and the other Carson close?”

“We were friends,” Evan said.

Carson smiled. That was good. The other Carson had, at least, enjoyed Evan’s friendship and company.

“We were friends,” Evan said, and his expression turned sad, “so that’s why I regret - on that last day -”

“I’m sure he didn’t die thinking you loved him any less,” Carson said.

Evan looked up at him, eyes wide. “Love?”

Carson realized what he’d said. “Ah - yes.” There was no point in hiding it. Cats and bags and the like.

“Since when?” 

At least Evan wasn’t shouting or going horribly quiet or getting violent or storming out.

“Do you remember, when you helped me at the firing range?” Carson asked.

Evan’s brow furrowed. “Which time?”

“The first time,” Carson said.

“We went to the firing range a lot. I don’t know if I remember the very first time,” Evan said, shrugged.

“Well, I only remember the one time, before I was - separated from the group,” Carson said. “You were very kind and patient with me, despite how slow and clumsy I was. It was very nice. I thanked you for it, and you said - you said my life was worth far more than a couple of hours, that you would gladly spend all your hours helping me if I prevailed at some strange marksmanship game at the range.”

“I don’t remember saying that, but it’s true. Why?”

“No one had ever said that to me before - not someone who wasn’t in my family,” Carson said. “Don’t get me wrong - I’ve had relationships before, had close friends. Not like the military, not the bond you lads have, but - but still. No one had ever said that to me before. And - you’re very attractive, so…” He trailed off, shrugged.

“I always wondered,” Evan said, meeting his gaze and holding it. “Sometimes, when he looked at me, talked to me - I wondered. We ended up going to the range on the regular - it wasn’t like either of us were going on dates. We’d sit together during movie night sometimes. But regs - and so many women on base thought he was attractive, like Laura.”

Cadman. She had been lovely. Carson had enjoyed her company. But it hadn’t worked out, like so many other relationships hadn’t worked out, and she’d gone back to Earth, and still there was Evan.

“Laura’s one of my friends, and - the look on your face, when she kissed you in Rodney’s body -” Evan looked away.

“But that was him, not me,” Carson said.

Evan looked back at him. “You’re here now, though. And you told me what he never did.”

“I’m only here for a while,” Carson said. “They’re sending me back to Earth to ‘recover’.”

“A while is better than nothing,” Evan said.

He was probably thinking about the last day of the other Carson’s life, how they could have spent time together but they didn’t.

“That it is,” Carson said.

Evan said, “Want to go fishing sometime?”

Carson smiled. “Yes. That would be lovely.”

Evan stood up, and they were eye-to-eye. “I promise I know you’re not him.”

“I still think I’m him sometimes,” Carson admitted. “I almost want to  _ be _ him. Or have all his memories. Or - something. Catch up with the life I could have been living.”

“Or just live the life you have in front of you, right here, right now,” Evan said softly.

“You’re here.”

“That I am.”

Carson closed his eyes, leaned in, and kissed him, and finally felt  _ alive. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the incredible SherlockianSyndromes for her beta services and encouragement into another rarepair adventure.
> 
> Title from Patrick Wolf's song "Tristan".


End file.
